


Three Days of the Citadel

by akfedeau



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Custom Commander Shepard, Developing Relationship, Espionage, F/M, Gen, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akfedeau/pseuds/akfedeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Reaper War rages and the Crucible enters its next stage of development, Hackett summons Shepard to the Citadel for what she thinks will be a routine business call. But he has some disturbing news about how the superweapon will actually work, and the Alliance has noticed her starting to crack as the conflict takes its toll. Between dealing with the revelation, fighting to stay at work, and getting dragged into a mystery involving a Cerberus spy, Shepard learns things are about to get much harder - and more personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

 

* * *

 

_The face of galactic hope has returned to the Citadel, after a week of exhaustive efforts in the Perseus Veil._

On a cool Citadel morning in the busy air of the transport hub, Irina Shepard stood on the people-mover and passed under one speaker after the next.

_Commander Irina Shepard has been locked in negotiations with the Migrant Fleet, to determine whether the war effort will gain formal quarian support. Most quarians seem to be eager to accept the commander’s deal, offering unique anti-synthetic skills against the Reaper threat._

A perfume ad glided behind her. Skycars gunned their engines and honked outside. Irina tightened the strap on her leather overnight bag, a hunch in her shoulders and blank exhaustion on her face.

_However, some of the quarian admirals are skeptical of the Alliance’s terms. In addition to personality conflicts within the military elite, tensions have recently escalated to an all-out hot war with the geth. Many galactic officials worry that this leaves the quarians distracted, and some even call for peace between them for the sake of the greater good._

She ignored the recruitment banner with her own hair blowing in the wind, her own white armor polished and gleaming in front of the Alliance flag.

_As little as a year ago that may have sounded impossible. Quarians no longer have an embassy on the Citadel, and their isolationist policies make diplomacy difficult. But after curing the genophage and stopping the Citadel coup in its tracks, there’s not much galactic citizens believe Shepard can’t do._

Her bag began to weigh on her back and send a dull ache through her neck.

_And if Shepard is able to convince the Migrant Fleet to lend their hand, she will not only pave new ground in Alliance politics, but gain a valuable ally in the fight for the galaxy._

And Irina drifted on to the end of the terminal, alone on the people-mover and lost in the emptiness of her mind.

_This is Diana Allers, for Alliance News Network._

 

* * *

 

Her neckache spread to the base of her skull as the main elevator drew to a stop, and announced with a bell and a VI’s gentle tones: _Embassy Floor._

The crowd swayed and bumped her, left, right - an _elcor_ , oh god, she braced for impact - and spat her out in front of the directory with a precious inch to herself. She hiked up her jacket and fished in her breech pocket for a sheaf of paper, and read in her own print: _H., 1400, Human Embassy._

And a man with a press pass at the help desk homed in on her uniform.

“Commander Shepard!”

Irina backed away from him.

“Commander Shepard, if you have a minute -”

Two more spotted her and elbowed their way through a swath of diplomats.

“Commander Shepard! Do you have a statement on the cure for the genophage?!”

“Commander Shepard! What are your thoughts on the proceedings in the Perseus Veil?”

Three more swooped in, then four, and chased her down the enclosed hall. _Commander Shepard, do you have a moment? Commander Shepard, I’m with ANN! Commander Shepard, Commander Shepard,_ but she glued herself to the path ahead, _Commander Shepard! Commander Shepard! Do you have any thoughts on the Citadel coup?_ One swerved in front of her and she brushed him aside, but they flocked and flanked her, waving and shouting, _Can you explain? Commander Shepard!_ Until she smashed the side of her fist into the auto-open in front of her, and rushed through to Udina’s office and shut herself in with a _thwack_ from the door.

 

* * *

 

And the cacophony faded behind her, one voice… and pair of footsteps… at a time.

So she scanned the office. No one? No one. Just plants. More news tickers on the screens on the wall. A fresh divet in one of the couch cushions…

“Vicious, aren’t they?”

Irina snapped to attention in record time.

“Admiral!”

“Stand easy. Good god.”

Irina lowered her arm and her ears flushed with embarrassment. Hackett bent over Udina’s desk beside the empty chair, perusing the pile of documents like it had anything to offer him.

“Heard you took public transit over,” he said.

“We’re all doing our bit.”

“That’s a pretty large bit for you, considering. How’s the place on Earth?”

“The ancestral house?”

“That’s right.”

“It’ll manage. It always does.” Irina paced across the clean white floor, picking a thread off the trim on her sleeve. “It’s nothing but the tenants out there, really. Not enough people to be worth a hit.” An awkward beat. “Yet.” Another. “I hope.”

Hackett’s eyes meandered here and there - up and down - back to the tabletop. Bills. Classified documents. The label from a wine bottle. Just the way Udina had left them.

“What the hell was that man thinking?”

“Don’t look at me. I don’t know.”

“I know.” Hackett let the folio fall closed. “That was rhetorical, I’m sorry.”

Irina stole a glimpse at the clock on the wall.

“Listen, while I have you here, I wanted to mention - good job in the Perseus Veil.” Hackett pushed the chair in. “Appreciate your willingness to play ball with the Migrant Fleet. Between you and me, not everyone in the Alliance brass would.”

“Thank you, but if you don’t mind.” Irina fidgeted. “You said you had something that couldn’t wait.”

Hackett deflated.

“You’re right.” He came up the short stairs. “I do. I got some news that was too important to discuss with you on vid-comm. You can’t be too careful these days. Never know who’s listening.” He gestured to Udina’s sunlit couches. “Sit down.”

Irina pointed her foot toward the doorway. “Admiral, I shouldn’t be long --”

“I think you’d better sit down.”

 _I think you’d better_. Like lead.

So Irina lowered herself onto the couch and smoothed the iron pleats on the front of her pants.

Hackett turned away from her and wandered to the end of the balcony, and watched the skycars rush over the water on the Presidium.

“I’ve been… doing some talking to Crucible R&D.”

“What’s wrong?” Irina sat forward. “Are they under attack?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Hackett rested on the guardrail. “Construction’s going fine.”

Irina listened…

“But they’ve built enough of it now to run some theoretical tests.” Hackett glanced at a departing taxi before he pulled away from the rail. “Power draws. Outputs. How this thing is supposed to work.”

Irina chewed inside her lip.

“So what?”

“Well, they can see now that it’s based on a powerful anti-synthetic code.” Hackett drummed his fingers together. “Very powerful. What the Protheans were onto, they were light years ahead of us. It uses FTL relays to direct its force through the galaxy - and performs a mass overload of the systems of whatever synthetics it finds.”

Irina kneaded her jacket hem in her lap.

“Now, the Reapers are synthetic-organic constructs, we know that. Trouble is, they’re not the only machine race around anymore.” The wrinkles on Hackett’s forehead deepened. “The geth. AIs. Your own EDI might not be safe.”

Irina stewed. “Admiral…”

“And let’s be honest, we don’t really know how much the relays can take.” Hackett kept talking around it despite her. “A few starships is one thing, a Reaper-killing beam is another -”

“Hackett, _stop beating around.”_

“Worst-case scenario, we blow FTL back to the Stone Age. And exterminate all synthetic life in the galaxy.”

Irina’s heart hit the floor.

“This thing is going to do a lot of god-damn collateral.” Hackett became very candid and very soft. “The question isn’t if anymore. The question is how bad.”

Irina felt nauseous.

“Bloody hell.”

“I know.”

“And there’s no other way.”

“As far as they can see, no. The weapon doesn’t discriminate.”

Irina craned away from him and bit the back of her knuckle.

“Anderson knows. The rest, I’ll have to… figure out on my own.” Hackett took off his cap. “The galaxy deserves better than not having a say in this, but the great ignorances of war are often the only way they’re won.” He stared blankly into the stitching inside. “If nothing else, I had to tell you. If push comes to shove you may be the one deciding for us all.”

Irina folded her free arm over her stomach as it cramped.

“Listen.” Hackett gestured for Irina to stand up. “This is going to be a problem, but I don’t want you to try to solve it now. Not tomorrow, not this week.” He led her away from Udina’s peaceful seating nook. “I want you to go back to your hotel room. You’re off-duty. Have a drink. I wanted to warn you in advance, and now I have. But our war effort _cannot afford_ to see this weigh you down.”

Irina swallowed hard… but nodded.

“Good.” Hackett patted her epaulet. “I know you can do it. Now go meet Chakwas for dinner or something. She could use the company.”

Irina smoothed her jacket and prepared to head out, before she heard…

“Shepard?”

She paused before the door could slide open.

“I’m sorry.”


	2. Day 2

 

 

* * *

 

_Di quella pira_

_l’orrendo foco._

Water beat against the shower walls and spattered on the floor.

A folded towel lay on the toilet. Cool air crept under the bathroom door. Irina stood under the stream with her neck bent and her elbows up, kneading shampoo behind her ears as her skin pricked up at the cold.

And her omni-tool sat beside the faucet on top of the sink, and played an old, scratchy recording over the rush and the spraying sound,

_Empi spegnetela, o ch'io tra poco_

_Col sangue vostro la spegnerò._

She balled up the washcloth and dragged it down the length of her arm. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure, then her shoulder above and her ribs below, digging into her flesh like she meant to scrape it off.

_Madre infelice, corro a salvarti,_

_O teco almeno corro a morir…_

Drops flicked on the mirror as she combed out her hair. Irina winced when she hit a tangle, and sighed - and paused - and set the comb down - and ripped it out.

Her ears burned and the dryer howled, and she styled her bangs - the locks on the sides. She turned the brush under and yanked. Harder. Yank. Dry. Repeat.

And toothpaste foamed on her chin. Left bottom. Left top. Right bottom. Right top. Thirty seconds in each quadrant, then into the back and over her tongue, and Irina doubled over and spat blood down the drain.

 

* * *

 

As she came back out into the hotel bedroom her earpiece beeped on the nightstand.

She stumbled across the room and snatched it up from beside the clock. Her ear crackled as she shoved it in and tried to get her balance back, hanging onto the lamp with her bangs falling over her nose.

“Hello?”

_“Commander Shepard?”_

Irina winked mascara out of the corner of her eye.

“Primarch Victus, is that you?”

_“I heard you were on the Citadel.”_

Irina swiped her shirt off the bedcovers. “I am.”

 _“Well, I can’t imagine you’re not busy, but I need to ask you for something.”_ The transmission snowed as Irina tugged the turtleneck over her head. _“I wonder if you could stop by Embassy C-Sec. About 11-hundred.”_

Irina shook her bob back out. “Why?”

_“It’s an issue of turian state security. Very classified. If I thought it were safe to tell you on this line, I wouldn’t ask you to come.”_

“Are the Reapers wiretapping now?”

_“For once it’s not them I’m worried about.”_

Irina stuck her legs into her breeches and buttoned them up from the sides.

_“Just have some breakfast and come over. I’ll explain as much as I can.”_

 

* * *

 

“Coffee?”

Irina rubbed at one of her dark circles. “Thank you, no.”

“I should know that by now.” Bailey set the pot back on the cabinet. “There’s some dextro stuff for you, Primarch, but I think it’s cold.”

Victus dismissed him. “I lose enough sleep as it is.”

Irina circled the chair that Bailey had moved in front of his desk.

“So.”

A grim tone fell over the room.

“You came all the way from Palaven,” she said. “You must not be wasting your time.”

“I’m sure you know about the turians and the volus. And our…” Victus waved at the air - “relationship.”

Irina settled into her squeaky-leather seat. “I know enough.”

“Last week a turian cruiser was ambushed by Cerberus.” Victus folded his claws in his lap. “A cruiser full of officials. Half the Hierarchy was on board.”

“Good lord.”

“The ship was able to get away, but something about this is wrong. They were under the radar. Way under. Cerberus shouldn’t have known they were there.”

“Forgive my cynicism, Primarch, but these are ugly times.” Irina crossed her legs. “You could put ten men together and one could be a Cerberus mole.”

“That’s what I’m getting at.”

Irina tilted her head at him.

“There are only two other people who knew where that ship was,” Victus explained. “Me, and Din Korlack. The volus ambassador.” His face pinched into a suspicious leer. “And I know it wasn’t me.”

Irina paused… and ruffled the coffee napkins with the force of her sigh.

“You know what I’m going to tell you.”

“No.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“No, I’m really not.”

“I just got through telling you Cerberus has people everywhere.” Irina cupped one of her palms over her knee. “There could have been a double agent on the ship itself, for all you know.” She gestured off at the hypothetical cruiser in hypothetical space. “I know it’s not pleasant to be betrayed like that, but you have to acknowledge it’s possible.”

Victus nodded across Bailey’s desk. “Play the tape.”

Bailey tapped on his keyboard, and his terminal screen came to life…

_Hello? Phantom?_

Korlack himself. Irina leaned in.

 _Phantom? This is Citadel._ The damning hiss of a volus suit. _I’ve left the documents at the drop point for you._

_All of them?_

Hiss. _All of them._

 _Excellent work._ Male? Human? Irina couldn’t tell. _Cerberus appreciates your good faith on this one._

 _Come in thirty minutes._ Another puff of air. _That’s when C-Sec changes guard._

And Bailey reached over and switched the recording off.

Irina stared at her shoes.

“Oh.”

Bailey rocked back in his chair.

“I should tell you, Commander, the Hierarchy doesn’t know about this.” Victus got up. “The Korlack angle, I mean. And for now, I don’t want them to. I don’t want the shakedown. It’s already Palaven’s darkest hour.”

Irina’s eyelids burned with exhaustion, and she scowled and wrenched them open.

“But now I’ve heard that a third party may have sent bounty hunters after him, and the turians need him _alive_.” Victus jabbed his finger downward to drive his point home. “We need to hear the whole story. I know you’re a busy woman, but this needs a Spectre. A tactful one.”

The coffee pot gurgled. Irina let the whole thing digest.

“Well.”

Bailey rocked back a little further.

“Where is he?” Irina asked. “I guess we’ve got to start somewhere.”

“He hasn’t come up on embassy security feeds in several days.” Bailey cradled his chin in thought. “It’s odd. It looks suspicious, and I’d think he’s smart enough to know that. But I’ll give you a call as soon as somebody gets a visual on him.”

“You do that.” Irina rose. “Officer. Primarch. I’ll be in touch…”

And she slipped when she braced her arm on the edge of Bailey’s desk.

She gasped. Bailey’s coffee cup flipped on its side. His chair vaulted forward and coffee splashed over the desktop, and he scrambled to pull his electronics out of the way.

Victus grabbed the stack of napkins and exclaimed something under his breath. Irina’s wrist shook… and she stared in horror at the mess.

Bailey’s brow creased deep at her.

“Shepard? Are you feeling all right?”

Irina breathed - and pulled away - and took a frightened step back.

“I’m fine.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s still no word from the SSV Faraday…”

By the time she crept out of Bailey’s office the embassy help line looped twice.

“My grandson writes to me every week. He would’ve told me _something_ …”

Irina’s head hammered with frustrated shame as she stalled before the empty elevator shaft. Back and forth. Back and forth. She tuned them out, and they tuned back in.

“I told you where they last landed. Can’t someone just look him up?”

“Ma’am, it’s too difficult to tell with that planet right now.” The clerk edged the old woman toward the planter box in the alcove. “Reapers have entered the system. A lot of ships aren’t getting in or out.”

Irina grit her teeth.

“What about the comm relays?”

“Most of those -”

“Your grandson is dead.”

The two of them jumped at Irina’s voice.

“But…” the old woman stammered…

“The Faraday went down on Bekenstein,” Irina snapped. “There were no survivors. Your grandson is dead.”

The woman crumpled. The clerk clutched under her arms to keep her upright. The elevator dinged and Irina stepped stiffly over the bottomless gap, and as she heard the woman sob no one followed her in.

So she pushed the top button… and waited… still no one… the doors closed…

She stomped around and blew her bangs up. _Damn!_

And as the elevator began to move her omni-tool beeped.

So she blinked slow - and exhaled loud - and she answered.

“Yes?”

 _“Shepard.”_ Hackett’s unmistakable growl. _“I just ran into the primarch. Said he had a nice meeting with you.”_

Irina peered down at her boot calf for imaginary scuffs. “‘Nice’ I don’t know about. ‘Meeting,’ sure.”

_“What’s going on?”_

“Nothing. It’s all right,” Irina bluffed. “Just some Spectre business with the volus ambassador. He could’ve gotten himself into trouble. Cerberus could be involved.”

_“Well, I hope it’s not too complicated. I’ve got something else I need from you.”_

“Like what?”

_“Starting Monday, I’m sending the Normandy into dry dock for a week. She’s been seeing a lot of action. Want to make sure she’s fresh.”_

“Admiral, that’s…” Irina walked in a circle with her finger on her comm ear - “that’s kind of you. But how do you expect me to get work done when I’m grounded for that long?”

_“I don’t.”_

The elevator hydraulics whirred, and the pistons groaned.

“Admiral?”

 _“I’m ordering you on shore leave for the seven days of the ship’s repairs.”_ Hackett started to sound stern. _“No Spectre business, nothing. If you won’t take a break when I ask nicely, I’m going to have to force you to.”_

A docking level floated by.

“Admiral.” Irina felt the blood rising in her ears. “If you’re worried that I’m not up to task…”

 _“I’m_ worried _you’re burning your candle at both ends.”_ Hackett skipped from interference. _“The galaxy needs you at your best. And if you keep going the way you are now, you’ll run yourself into the ground. ”_

Irina clenched her jaw. “I have _never_ given you _anything_ below my best --”

_“You know I’ve had ten officers taken to Huerta this month?”_

Irina tightened her free hand.

 _“Fatigue? Fainting? Hand tremors? One had a heart attack!”_ Hackett crackled on the line. _“Ten officers, Shepard. Older and wiser ones than you.”_

Irina said nothing.

 _“I’ve already got the paperwork signed.”_ Hackett simmered down. _“Report to Tiberius Towers by 2400 Sunday night. Anderson’s arranged his apartment for -”_

Irina cut him off. “Admiral _Anderson_ -”

 _“Anderson’s already signed off, too.”_ A pause. _“And so have your parents, by the way.”_

The elevator jostled beneath her… and Irina tucked her chin.

“Very well.”

 _“Thank you, Shepard.”_ Hackett wavered as he ebbed out. _“For making this easy on me.”_

Irina let go of her ear. Another level drifted past. And a second. And a third.

And her back hit the wall and she slid all the way to the floor, and her eyes screwed shut and she hiccuped and her fists tore into her hair.


	3. Day 3

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t invite me out here to check your blood pressure, did you?”

The cafe bustled from tip to toe at the end of its lunch hour. An asari waitress took an order. A turian argued with the host. Passerby streamed by and laughed and stopped on the nearby stairs, and a whisper of _is that Commander Shepard?_ floated over the counter stools.

“No.”

“Pulse ox?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“I’m not going to keep guessing.”

Irina nudged the lettuce on her plate aside. “Just wanted to meet for lunch.”

“Well, all right.” Chakwas went back to her open-faced sandwich. “I’ve just never seen you make social inroads with your crew before.” A chuckle. “Especially me, and not someone more important.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know.” Chakwas sawed at the sourdough crust. “Alenko just got out of hospital. He must be keen to stretch his legs.”

“Between you and me.” Irina split a chunk of potato with her spoon. “I haven’t been able to really look Alenko in the eye since Virmire.” She stirred her soup back and forth to let the last of the too-hot out. “Worse since Horizon. I think part of him’s still not convinced I didn’t believe in I.M.’s cause.”

“He wasn’t there, dear, he didn’t see you.” Chakwas bit into her meatball. “That’s all I can say.”

The turian gave up and left, and the host scrambled with the growing line.

“Anyway, I won’t be talking to any of you much for the next few days.” Irina strained her broth. “Hackett’s drydocked the bloody Normandy. Put me at Anderson’s for the week.”

“Why?!”

“Says I’m un _fit_.” Irina drove her spoon in so hard it clinked on the porcelain. “‘Running myself into the _ground_.’” Stab. Stab. “Wants me to sit on my bony arse while the galaxy burns, in the name of my _mental_ health.”

“Well, if that’s it, I’m sorry, Commander, but I can’t in good faith disagree.”

“I don’t want to hear it -”

“I know you don’t.” Chakwas salted her other meatball. “But your latest stress panels look like you’ve been in a prison camp.”

“There’s a war on. _Everyone’s_ stressed.” Irina kept strong-arming her spoon. “If Hackett would listen to _reason_ -”

“Hackett is a grumpy old man.” Chakwas dismissed him with fondness. “There are many like him, but few have been made responsible for so much. I’d take it in the spirit that he wants the best for you.”

They ate for a while without speaking. Dishes clattered. The line cleared out.

“Tell you what,” Irina offered. “Why don’t I cover this for you…”

“No, honestly, I’m buying -”

“I insist -”

“And so do _I._ We’ll call it even for the Serrice Ice Brandy.” Chakwas polished off her sandwich. “Even if you made me wait to drink it until I was off your damned dry ship…”

But before she could finish Irina’s earpiece vibrated beside her plate.

“I’m sorry, I’m expecting someone, this could be important.” Irina fetched it. “Hello?”

 _“Shepard! We just saw Korlack go into an embassy office suite.”_ Bailey shouted a mile a minute. _“Get up there and intercept him!”_

“I’m sorry…” Irina scooted back from the table - “I’m sorry, Doctor, I…” she turned on her heel - “Spectre business, I’ve got to go!”

 

* * *

 

 _“This is getting weird, Shepard. That office camera just cut out.”_ Bailey guided her as the elevator emptied into the sea of the embassy mall. _“Two people came in and got on another terminal, and the feed went dead.”_

Irina flattened herself between two elcor. “Did you get a look at either one?”

_“One’s a krogan. The other, can’t tell.”_

Irina weaved through the shouting throngs. Humans? Two volus? Not him, not him…

_“We can’t get it back up. It’s like they hacked it from the inside.”_

The nearby C-Sec guard detained her as she approached the suite entrance. “Hey, we’ve just had some suspicious activity here…”

And Irina charged right through him. “I’m a Spectre, god dammit!”

The suite entrance gave way as she barged through, and she scanned her surroundings as it slammed shut. A second time. a Third. No Korlack to the left. To the right. In back.

“Bailey!” Irina called out. “He’s already gone!”

_“The terminal we saw him using was on the far right wall. Take a look on there. See if he left something behind.”_

Irina checked one more time. No one peeking inside…? Good. So she light-footed it through the aisles and hit the button on the terminal screen.

“Uh…” She sorted the files by most recent, then by author ID… “he’s got some new recordings.”

_“Go on, then. Play one.”_

So Irina knocked the microphone aside and punched the top of the keyboard.

_“You people are monsters!”_

_“Ambassador, please…”_

Irina’s brows furrowed. Some other contact?

_“Hundreds dead. Udina betraying the Council! I should’ve cut ties with you ages ago!”_

_“The risks you took by passing information to Cerberus… it’s left you in an interesting position.”_ Definitely another contact. _“If you sever contact, we can’t protect you from the consequences.”_

Irina hit the same key.

“Bailey? Are you still there?”

_“Yeah?”_

“This doesn’t make sense.” Irina gave the terminal screen one last go-over. “It’s obvious Korlack was a mole at some point, but he seems to have changed his mind.” She tapped her nail on the desk. “This tape he’s got of him and a… some… Cerberus contact… they’re trying to keep him from defecting. Threatening him if he tries.”

_“Damn. This changes everything. Keep going.”_

Irina shuffled through files… and more files… and loaded the second audio clip.

_“I feel like I’m being watched. I think someone’s put a price on me.”_

Irina gnawed at her thumbnail…

 _“Cerberus? The turians? It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to get out of here.”_ Korlack quavered. _“If you’re listening to this in the upper embassy office suite, I’ve hid a receiver on the floor. It’s by the filing cabinet…”_

Heavy, ominous recorded footsteps -

_“Wait, what are you doing?”_

A crash. A thud. A surge of interference… and the recording shut off.

“Bailey?!”

_“What? What’s wrong?”_

“I think Korlack’s been kidnapped!”

 _“Dammit!”_ Bailey swore again. _“Those must’ve been the bounty hunters!”_

“I’m going to try to get through to him!” Irina backed away from the desk. “I’ll report as soon as I can!”

She threw herself across the room and ducked by the filing cabinet, and searched as fast as she could around metal wheels and clods of dust. Nothing - nothing still - a little more to the right - there! She pulled it out and blew it off and stuck it in her other ear.

“Korlack? Din Korlack?!”

A foggy groan.

“Ambassador Korlack, it’s Irina Shepard. I found your receiver.” Irina took care of the platitudes as she rushed back out of the suite. “Are you somewhere you can talk?”

 _“Yes. Maybe? I don’t know.”_ Korlack hissed. _“They’ve locked me in the bathroom. They’re arguing outside.”_

“All right.” Irina huffed and elbowed and fought through the growing embassy crowd. “I need you to follow my orders, and only speak when and how I prompt you to.” She squeezed past official after official. “Your distress signal is ‘Mayday.’ Do you understand, yes or no?”

Hiss. _“Yes.”_

Irina hurried toward the next arriving elevator. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

“Korlack.” Irina maneuvered herself between two turians and a hanar in the cramped space. “Can you give me a location?”

“ _What?”_

“Do you know where you are?”

 _“I could see one of the lake bridges.”_ Hiss. “ _When they brought me in.”_ A hesitant beat, and he dropped to a whisper. _“I think we’re near Selkish Arms.”_

“And did you get a visual on who kidnapped you?”

 _“I -"_ Something scuffled, and Korlack hushed even more. _“I did. Krogan male - and an Earth-clan female.”_

Irina kept time with her foot. Someone else came through on the receiver, far in the distance and deep…

“Who’s that third voice?”

A thump from the next room.

_“I’m not sure. think he’s their leader.”_

Irina muted the receiver and spoke into the other ear. “Bailey, get a squad to Selkish Arms. I have an ID on the kidnappers. Krogan male, human female, unidentified second man.”

_“Got it.”_

“Thank you.” Irina switched back. “Korlack?”

An indistinct noise…

“Korlack?!”

 _“I can’t give you anything!”_ Korlack protested. _“They’ll find out. They always find out…”_

 _“Yeah, well, good news, asshole. Our client is onto you, too.”_ The… woman? Yes, the woman interrupted him. _“They just wired me the credits. In two minutes, you’re not my problem.”_

Irina leapt out onto the Presidium Commons and ignored the growing stitch in her side.

 _“Please…”_ a frantic hiss - _“you’ll start another war…”_

_“But if you tell us the name of that colony, I might let you start running first…”_

“Korlack.” Irina ignored the hawking cries of the volus traders nearby. “I’ve made it to the shops, but I still can’t find you yet.” She barely dodged an asari lost in a fight on her own phone. “You’re going to have to drop the number of the apartment they’ve got you in.”

_“How?”_

_“Don’t play coy, Agent Citadel!”_ The krogan. _“Just tell us! We know you know!”_

“Hurry!” Irina darted between the apartments. “Put it in a sentence!”

 _“Wait!”_ Korlack got louder. _“I can bribe you.”_

80… 82… no signs of life from either one…

_“94… thousand… credits. Starting offer. 94.”_

94! Irina bolted toward the other end of the hall.

 _“That’s an awful specific number, Korlack.”_ The woman cut back in. _“What are you trying to pull on us here?”_

 _“I’m not pulling anything!”_ Hiss. _“That’s the number my contact gave.”_

_“Wait a minute…”_

_“Contact?!”_ The krogan burst out. “ _When did he get a contact?!”_

_“He’s had a fucking wire inside that suit the whole time!”_

Irina picked up speed. “I _said_ don’t break the script!”

 _“No,”_ Korlack bluffed, _“We discussed if this might happen weeks ago…”_

_“Who is it?!”_

_“Stop!”_

A crash. _“Tell us!”_

_“I said stop!”_

_“The hell with this, the credits just came in -”_

Glass shattered -

_“Mayday! Mayday!”_

Irina’s boots pounded out the rest of the distance and she flung open her uniform flaps, wheezing, her heart rate spiking, sweat beading under her hair, and seized her handgun from its shoulder holster when a shot rang out inside…

And she stormed into the apartment just as a second _crack!_ went off.

She froze in the entryway. The woman’s body hit the ground beside the krogan’s corpse, and blood seeped from under her back.

And as she caught her ragged breath…

“It’s like I always say…”

Irina gasped -

“You want something done right…” Zaeed raised his smoking pistol - “you’ve got to do it yourself.”

“Massani?!”

“These bastards almost tied up one of Cerberus’ loose ends.” He blew the smoke off. “Now. Where were we?”

Irina took another step toward them without lowering her aim. “Massani, stand down. I’m taking him into C-Sec custody.”

Korlack squirmed away from her. “Aren’t you going to _do_ something about that?”

“Eh. It’s not the first time she’s put a gun in my face.” Zaeed ejected his spent thermal clip and holstered his own pistol. “Don’t worry, Blondie, you’ll get your ambassador back. I just want to have a word with him.”

“About _what?”_

“See, I’m sure you heard by now about this turian colony.” Zaeed dug his toe back and forth into the tile while he explained. “Cerberus means to bomb it, but he won’t tell me which one. Says they’ll know he turned traitor.”

Hiss. “Well, _you’d_ know about that.”

Zaeed whirled around. “Listen, I’ve beaten a lot of you little Pooh-Bear shits before.” He advanced on Korlack and cracked his knuckles. “And I’m not afraid to do it again -”

“Massani, for _fuck’s sake!”_

Zaeed shot Irina a look like a defiant cat.

“This is Alliance space!” She scolded him. “We have _standards_.”

Zaeed scoffed. “Standards of what?”

“We do not _beat_ the ambassador.”

Zaeed sucked his teeth…

“Fine.” He sashayed aside. “Be my guest.”

Korlack straightened his back and steeled his resolve. “I’m not telling him, and I won’t tell you.”

“Ambassador, your contact was right. You find yourself with a decision to make.” Irina started advancing into Korlack’s personal space. “You can be assassinated by Cerberus for giving up the colony, or the turians can execute you when that colony blows up. The primarch does know, by the way. He’s the one who sent me after you.” Step. Step. “Or you can do the noble thing and tell us where it is, and commit the volus bombing fleet as thanks for my protecting you.” And she flashed him her stiffest upper lip. “I’ve bent over awfully far for you. You could start pulling your _weight.”_

Korlack hemmed. And hawed. Zaeed glared. The krogan blood spread to the end table…

“Aephus,” Korlack finally surrendered, in a sad whuff. “It’s on Aephus.”

Zaeed squinted at them both through one eye in disbelief.

“Wonderful,” Irina clipped, and reached under her hair. “Bailey, send your men down. Ignore the Spectre. Tag the dead. Arrest Korlack.”

Korlack exploded. “ _What?!”_

And on her way out she said, “No protection like a C-Sec holding cell!”

 

* * *

 

In a snap of fabric a white sheet fell on the bodies on the apartment floor.

Onlookers gathered. Officers signaled. Directions flew. Omni-tools chirped. One took notes on his datapad. Another numbered the evidence. Two men stretched a pair of cordons out and between them a beam lit up, bright, blue, and forbidding: _CRIME SCENE, DO NOT CROSS._

“So.” Zaeed snuck out from the nearest alcove before anyone could notice him. “Heard you were here for that coup business.”

Irina walked beside him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“No, I won’t press it. I’m just saying. Udina’s a crazy sonofabitch.” Zaeed stuffed his thumbs in his holster belt and hiked it up. “Can’t really throw stones at a man for being loyal to himself, but Cerberus?” He grunted. “Talk about no standards.”

“Says the man who used to be loyal to a Cerberus ship.”

“You and I define the word ‘loyal’ very differently.” A colored light flickered on Zaeed’s forehead as he passed under the apartment signs. “Cerberus wanted to pay my bills to do the impossible? All right. You bailed back to the Alliance once it was done. You didn’t see what came next.”

Irina dusted off her cuff. “Let me guess. They got tired of you talking back.”

“Oh, no. The Illusive Man thought I’d done good. _Real_ good.” Zaeed lost some of the spring in his step. “Wanted to keep giving me jobs. Invite me to look at his top-shelf stuff.” For once he seemed uncomfortable remembering his own story. “Short version, I took a wrong turn and saw something I shouldn’t have, and I learned that he was putting his mooks through that… brainwashing? Indoctrination.” He stroked along his jawline. “Whatever you call it.”

Irina shifted aside to let an asari couple go by.

“I’ll do a lot of stupid shit if it pays well enough. But all the credits in the world won’t make me a blithering husk.” Zaeed snarled and shook the memory out of his bones. “Anyway, they’ve been trying to kill me. I’ve been trying to kill them back.”

“Then I hate to admit it, but the war effort could use your help.” Irina studied the shine on her feet as they followed the lines on the hallway tiles. “I don’t know if you were planning to stay here on the Citadel…”

“I think I’ll head to the refugee camp. See what I can stir up.” Zaeed smoothed down the back of his hair. “Heard there’s a batarian terrorist up there. Maybe I’ll punch him in the face.”

“Oh god, Massani, _no._ I don’t need another diplomatic incident.”

“Diplomatic incident. Public service.” Zaeed shrugged and slowed to a halt in a square patch of light. “It’s all in how you look at things.”

Irina’s attention roamed. The plants rustled. Life droned on. Zaeed yawned and stretched his gloved hand over his mouth.

“Well. I.” She played with her fingers behind her back. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Sure.” Zaeed tipped his head down and scratched at the side of his nose. “Saving the world. Polishing your boots again.”

Irina flared up. “I do _not -_ ”

“Relax.” Zaeed strolled off toward the elevator. “Toughest girl in the galaxy, and the easiest chain to yank.”

Irina crossed her arms in obstinance and watched him leave…

“You know, I do have one thing to thank you for.” Zaeed sauntered through the open door. “You got me in and out of the Omega 4 Relay alive.” He marveled at it as the space filled up around him. “Imitating the Reaper signal and everything? Hell of a story to tell.”

Irina hesitated. Zaeed clicked his tongue and limp-wrist-saluted her as the doors closed in front of him.

She looked left. She looked right. She stood alone in the atrium where signs blared and turians patrolled, volus bartered in the corners and workmen drilled beside the bench, and it swirled at her sides and bored into her ears as she thought - _wait._

_Omega 4 Relay._

She dashed back down the hallway and fired up her omni-tool, Hackett’s words echoing in the back of her mind - _the weapon doesn’t discriminate._ She scrolled through her contact list and dug an unmarked number out, and waited, and waited, and twitched, and kept walking - _pick up, pick up!_ -

“Lawson?!”

A moment more without response, then -

_“Shepard? Is that you?”_

“I know you said not to call you at this number, but I need to ask you a favor.” Irina sped past the Armali Council ad on the wall. “A very, very large… and very dangerous favor…” past the workers and out of the hall - “for which I’m sure I’m going to owe you for a very, very long time.”

Silence. Static.

_“What is it?”_

Irina stopped at the empty window panes and gazed down the steps below, into the cafe and the lake and the hundreds and thousands and millions of people on the Citadel...

“Does Cerberus still have the source code of the Reaper IFF?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rework/expansion fic for ME3′s volus ambassador mission, trying to give it some more flesh than the brief assignment we got ingame. I also lay some of the groundwork for my headcanon ME3 ending. Enjoy!


End file.
